Amo Piaculum
by Nerva al'Thor
Summary: -Oneshot- Love transcends worlds.


**Amo Piaculum**

They look at each other from where the desk stood in between the chairs they are sitting on, separating them. He blinks faster than she does and this is almost a quirk, and for the sake of doing something he clasps his hands together and rests them on the desk, on the neat sheets of paper that he needs to sign, but keep putting off for some reason. She is beautiful on the chair, had always been – and for a moment he is struck by his own idiocy.

Why didn't he notice her before?

He offers tea, but she declines as she rises, her legs uncrossing and taking on her weight. His highly trained eyes notes how her muscles tenses – those muscles that make up her lower legs, her calves and her thighs – how they tense beautifully, the skin almost becoming taut. He too, rises, and pushes his offer of tea. She shakes her head and her dark hair dance.

_I can't stay_, she says, _or I might be tempted to touch you_.

It was the simplest thing to reply to her. He kept her waiting long enough, and he opens his lips, the words coming out smoothly.

_Then touch me_.

---

They've known each other since they were eight years old. He was blonde and hazel-eyed, looking every bit of a heaven-sent angel, too nice for his own good even as a novice. She had dark hair and blue-gray eyes, and young as she was, she was already attracting the eyes of older men. He hailed from Hugel, the son of a sheepherder and a seamstress, having gone to Prontera to provide him a better education than the basic lessons the local Hugelian parish offered. She hailed from Morroc an orphan, and she had been with the thieves' guild for as long as she could remember. Naturally, she was going to be one, and when asked she often answered that she would become an assassin one day.

He was popular with the young girls because of his terribly boyish looks and smile. He helped anyone who needed it – even if the help was questionably asked, or truly unneeded. He loved helping people, and that was all there was to it. He never asked for favors, except for little homework help now and then. Many of the girls and the nicer boys of their batch obliged gratefully. He was also rather poor in academics, and the brighter ones of their batch, who would eventually become the mages and wizards, often coached him during exams.

She was quite the opposite. While she was generally 'nice', she was definitely one of the nastier girls – she would not hesitate to retaliate if she got provoked badly, even if it was a boy who had threatened her. Unlike him, she excelled mostly in the physical exams – she was one of the fastest of their batch and could kill ten Fabres in just five minutes. She didn't give her help because it was nicely asked; rather she gave her help to very few people, and from others she made sure she got something out of it, like a deal. She was as crafty as a merchant sometimes.

He was forever picked on by the older boys; they would jeer and taunt and tease his girly looks, but for all of their threats he bore their insults rather admiringly. He just stood or sat still in silence, blinking up at them, and oftentimes the older boys got annoyed and would throw rocks or beat him with his fists. He never fought back, though he was certainly not weak. She always tended to his broken lip or torn eyebrow, prattling away about how he should be more of a man and punch them in the gut, or kick them in the shin, see how they take that. Sometimes she would get so angry that frustrated tears would leak out of her eyes and she would slap him, the action doing well to re-open his wounded lip, and after that she would apologize and tend to him again, and he would just hug her until she calmed down.

They graduated from the academy at twelve years of age.

---

There is a crash as his inkpot falls to the floor. A pool of ink spreads on the carpet unheeded, the black spreading against the intricate weave upon the now ruined wool. Another sweep of his hand sends the papers flying in a momentary rain of pristine white sheets. Some of the sheets land in the growing pool of ink and darken just as fast, ruined.

The kiss they share is as heated as the sands of the Sograt perhaps. His hands wander everywhere, and somewhere in the reaches of his mind he is suddenly thankful that assassin crosses – females, at least – were clad minimally. His fingers snake hot trails down her deliciously tanned skin and she enjoys it, enjoys the feeling of his touch – this holy touch that she has desired for most of her life, this holy touch that she sought elsewhere in another man but could never find.

She growls and clamps her shapely legs around his waist, the action clamping him irresistibly to her, and she almost moans as she feels him close, so close. At the moment she seems to hate the robes he wear – those cross-ridden robes of an archbishop, and her hands work feverishly to get him out of them – tugging, pulling, tearing.

_Impatient_, he says breathlessly as he gets rid of her pauldrons and pulls down her plunging and clinging top, neatly exposing her upper body for his eyes to feast upon.

_It is so easy to sin_, she thinks, and he of all people knows that. For a moment their breathless struggle pauses as she cups his face in her hands, and she kisses him softly, softly. _I want you_, she says, _I want you, I want you, I want you—_

_I know. I know_, he replies just as softly in between her kisses, and his lips break free from her as they claim the proud mounds of her breasts. She tips her head as her eyelids flutter shut. Her lips part in an inarticulate sound.

She is on fire.

---

They met each other again when they were fourteen, in Payon. He had been a freshly-ordained acolyte out to seek his mentor, who asked him only one question in that one brief meeting – could he now heal others? He said yes, and that was the end of it – the world disappeared around him as his mentor warped him in the second level of the caves, leaving him to fend for himself. He had been in the cave for four days, running and fending for himself, and on the fourth day had just resigned himself to an untimely death when the lamplights of a party woke him from his reverie. He screamed for help and gladly the party heard, and soon a swordsman, an archer and a mage came to his rescue. Another member of the party, a thief, tended to him.

_Sid_?!

_Diane_?!

Fate is a conniving bitch, he would later say to himself, and then he would quickly cross himself and apologize for the swearword. He almost did not recognize her. She had grown curves in the strangest of places, especially on the front part of her now shapely body. She kept her dark hair under a bandana and in a neat ponytail. After regaining his bearings with some apples and potions, he found the time to poke her and ask why their uniform was studded with ribbons. She didn't know and just shrugged his question, and then inquired as to what he was doing in that part of the caves.

He laughed the question off and then trailed to awkward silence. Beside him she fanned herself with her hand, and soon the swordsman leader of the party asked if they were ready to go. She offered him a hand and said that an acolyte was always welcome to a party, and he did not refuse, glad as he was to see her again.

It would be the start of many adventures together.

---

The flash of light is gone as quickly as it had enveloped them both, and somewhere she still feels this unnatural pulling within her gut, as if she'd left her innards in his office back at the Sanctuary. They end up on the floor, and beneath her he grunts in pain as his head collides with a leg of the table. She would have giggled if they weren't so busy trying to get rid of the final obstacles to their sure-as-hell-to-be-furious sex.

They roll on the carpet, almost growling at each other, the other wanting to dominate, no one wanting to let the other top completely. They struggle with kisses, with grips, with squeezes, with strokes as they keep rolling and rolling, and soon it was her turn to grunt as she hits the same table leg he hit earlier. Somewhere she feels his warm hand close in on the bump area, and she purrs as she quivers beneath him. She rubs her feet against the back of his legs.

She could feel his arousal poking at her left inner thigh, and she feels something within her contract deliciously. She almost blushes as she realizes how wet she is. He shifts above her, his golden hair trailing around them like a blanket, and she feels his tip touch her lips. He gives a shove that sends him right into her longing slit, and she cries out as she feels him fill her up immediately.

There is silence as they enjoy this conjugation. She loves the way he fits snugly inside, and she contracts immediately around him.

---

They were twenty-four and troubled.

He sat in silence nearby the short-haired Kafra assigned at the northern area of Morroc, almost hunched over, brooding. The sun was high up but he did not give a damn; the heat did not bother him even though his priest's uniform of black, gold and red would have made sure he was hotter than anyone else, except possibly the well-wrapped boy mages running around to and from the pyramids. He removes the boy's cap on his golden locks and runs his hand through his hair.

His girlfriend of nine years, another assassin named Zel, had not been the most faithful of women. He knew that he wasn't always there for her – priests and high priests were forever sent to far-flung areas on various healing and exorcism missions. Sometimes he would be gone for two years. He tried – tried very hard to satisfy her every need if and when he was at home. He never turned to others, but he guessed after everything, it wasn't enough. He buried his face in his hands and froze as he heard her familiar voice.

_Sid_?

He looked at her through the gaps of his fingers. She easily closed the distance between them, earth-colored cloak over her shoulders. He noted that a different man tailed her obediently this time – last week it had been that overly flamboyant knight, now it was an upstart-looking blacksmith.

And somehow, despite his own sorrow, he wondered if this new man would be willing to stay with her through her flu or her cold. He wondered if this new man would have enough affection to lend her his coat when it suddenly rained and she had none on her person.

_Are you all right?_ He felt her hand on his shoulder, firm but reassuring as they had always been. He lowered his own hand and faced her with a smile in an ill attempt to hide his grimace. She was quickly unconvinced and frowned at him. He sighed and shook his head. She immediately turned to her new 'friend' and sent him away with a soft word, and afterward she sat down beside him.

_What happened?_

He patted her hand on his arm and looked at the sand. _I saw Zel with another man._

She wasted no words; she just hugged her to him like what she always did when he was hurting. And, as always, it never failed to make him feel better.

---

He cannot stay idle at circumstances like these – lodged firmly inside a beautiful woman, feeling her hot wet walls around his prick – it demands movement. To hold back would be rude to her – treat her like a girl when she obviously was not. Balancing himself on his arms and his knees so as not to burden her too much with his own weight, he starts with deep shoves, and he watches her in wonder as her body responds beautifully to his touch. She contracts around him regularly, squeezing and loosening, squeezing and loosening in time with his eager pace. He loses his balance anyway, but slowly tries to share his weight, and she doesn't mind.

_Ah! Ahh---!_

She tips her head back on the floor as he reaches her deeper. And then she is restless underneath him, her pretty legs agitating, spasming, as if she could not quite decide whether to shift her hips or meet his thrust. He swoops down and claims her neck with abandon, and he feels her hands grasp handfuls of his hair and pull.

Closer.

Closer.

He plunges into her and reaches her deep end, and her body seems to tremble around him. She pulls on his hair hard enough it hurts, and he feels her hot flood wash over him.

---

She remarked that the high priest robes suited him much better. He only managed half a smile in reply. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat down clutching a bowl of soup. She sighed and smirked – she detested being down with flu. He smiled and proceeded to feed her in silence. As always she was quick to notice something was wrong, and a finger poked his tummy.

_What happened now?_

He shrugged as he handed her a glass of apple juice. _I'm done with her._

She sat up almost immediately and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes looking deep into his own. He smiled and leaned into her touch as he patted her hand.

_Don't worry about me,_ he said. _What I'm worried about is why your men all seem to conveniently forget you exist when you're sick and can't even come here to cook you some soup. Now that's annoying. A lady must be well taken care of._ He averted his gaze at that moment. She was much luckier than he would be it seemed.

He heard her sigh, and he turned to her. Her expression was unreadable at that time, but he could not be sure. It seemed she looked at him with longing so great she seemed to fall apart right before his very eyes.

He took her hand and kissed it. _I'll be all right. You'll see. I'll be all right._

A week later, he would disappear in the middle of the Sograt Desert as he accompanied a research group studying Satan Morroc's seal.

---

She keeps flooding him in liquid heat of a deluge. He moves closer, closer, extending every ounce of self-control he has upon his body – anything at all, to prolong this voluptuous occupation. Everything of her fills his mind, his senses. Her pretty legs tremble, and clamps around him viciously, and at that moment he melts into her completely, lost in a kiss, in this most intimate embrace.

He lets out a moan, and it's his turn now to flood her with his own heat. He regains his senses an eternity later, when he feels her touch on his face. Instinctively he leans into her hand and smiles down at her.

_My first time,_ she whispers. _With the one I truly love…_

---

He would return some years later, changed.

His robes were of gold, white and black, but they were of a distinct cut and style that was nowhere near the standard issue uniform that the highest ranked clerics of the Church of Odin wore. Rumors swirled upon his quiet return, though he never answered questions. What mattered was that he was back, and he had lots of work to do.

His inhuman healing abilities would ensure his steady rise in rank at the tiers of the church, and soon he was offered to be the patriarch. He tilted his head and fiddled with his cap and refused the offer, saying that he liked taking care of the kids in the orphanage and organizing healing missions, and he was mostly content with that. The church would be forever baffled by this decision but he would be quick to shrug it off. He had enough hubbubs to last him ten lifetimes.

He never told anyone where he disappeared to, except little notebooks he kept with him at all times. There he wrote his story in scribbles – about the wonders of the Ash Vacuum world.

…about the beauteous Lapines who were ruled by a child and voluntarily left the throne at 200 years of age.

…about the industrious Manuk who grew diamonds out of the soil.

…about the guild of rangers and their wargs who thrived in the eastern forest, where their guild master took care of a giant apron-sporting chicken.

…about the great dragon Nidhoggr who flew over green skies and was chased by guillotine crosses and rampaging mechanics.

…about the test of this second transcension.

…about how…

_I have found myself at last…_

Truth be told, like those who got lost before him, he had no place in Midgard anymore. His rightful place now was to belong forever in the Ash Vacuum world, to partake of its new adventures and new opportunities – to start life anew.

But Sid knew in himself that all the new adventures and all the new opportunities would be worthless without one important woman by his side.

Odin damn him for realizing it so late, but then again, he was never quick on the wits except perhaps when it came to save a dying person.

---

She wears a shirt of his, and hugs him from behind as he cooks them both a very late breakfast the next day. She rests her chin on his shoulder as he makes her favorite food – tofu stir-fry. He serves her the food, but it seems she's too lazy to eat on her own – so he takes up the chopsticks and alternates eating and feeding her in turn.

She purrs as he nuzzles her nose as they share the same cup of coffee.

_I'm sorry if I made the lady wait…_ he says this softly, with an apologetic smile.

She doesn't answer for a while, and he suddenly realizes, yet again, how idiotic he had been for most of his life.

Then her hands close in on his cheeks, and she wraps her arms around his neck in a hug. Her familiar scent of jasmine floods his senses, and he pulls her close as he buries his nose into the strands of her dark hair. She is warm and soft in his arms.

He vows to make her the happiest woman on Midgard, and beyond.


End file.
